24. Januar 1945
| GEO & MIL INFO | ||||
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| subordinated to G.R. 187 (Cdr: Colonel Mann) of 87. I.D.WP |
Since time is pressing, however, I have already received a special order. My company is to be thrown as quickly as possible to the endangered front. My train is to follow with the rest of the battalion. So I gather my battle groups and we climb onto the two lorries that had driven up in the meantime. As the engines start up, the new day (23 January) is already dawning. We are going to Ķesteri[1]. The driver knows the way. After about an hour we stop in a fir tree grove. It is already light and we recognise some bunkers and firing positions of heavy 15 cm mortars to the left and right of the road. While we wait for the guide, we climb down into the bunkers. It is bitterly cold outside. Besides, we haven’t slept all night and the previous day and are tired and frozen through. But soon the guide, an officer, gets us out again. After a short drive, we leave the forest and head out into open terrain. At a road junction sits a lonely house in the middle of the plain. There is an officer again who beckons us to turn left onto a road which, after a short while, leads back into the forest. He urges us to hurry. We have hardly disappeared between the green walls of the forest when the first shells crash into the ground in front of us. The lorries stop. There are now six lorries, because the other companies and the battalion staff have joined us in the meantime. We dismount, grab our equipment and slowly stalk forward. There are some ruins at the point where the path emerges from the forest. They are the first houses of Ķesteri. We are close to our goal. I spread my company left and right in the forest and have them lie down. Some groups lie down in the ruins. Individual shells are still howling in and crashing into the forest or between the ruins with a dull explosion. We have to wait and see. The Russians have either seen our column approaching or they know that the supply road runs through here. In any case, the area around us is under lively harassing fire.
Then the order comes for my company. I am to proceed along the road to the next village, which is about a kilometre away. I look at the terrain in front of me. Ahead of me is the small church village of Kesteri. The road curves past the village on the right and branches off at a right angle to the south[2] at the church and disappears into the forest. That’s where I have to go, because my destination lies behind this forest. So all I have to do is follow this road. I have the company gather and, putting myself in the lead, give the signal to march. After a while I turn around and see my company coming in an endless line behind me, while the last groups are still standing in dense heaps between the ruins and on the road. With the lead, however, I already turn at the fork in the road and disappear back into the protective forest. On both sides of the road are warning signs with skulls: “Beware of mines!” On the left in the ditch lies a knockedout Stalin tank. It is the latest Soviet design. A heavy tank, sleek and shapely.
I reach the end of the forest. Four hundred metres in front of me in the open is a group of ruined houses, behind which two German assault guns lie in wait. The ruins are the remains of the village of Sanderi[3]. We have reached our destination. Immediately to the left, hard by the edge of the forest, the terrain slopes down to a narrow, steep-sided hollow, about ten metres deep. At its bottom are some barracks and bunkers, the battalion command post. I lead my company down here. My arrival causes great joy. With a sigh of relief, I am told that I am to recapture a lost position this very night. I immediately begin preparations by leading the company back up to the top, where the men, spread out wide, lie down in the snow across the open space. It’s the second night without sleep, after I haven’t slept for one night and two days in a row. And now another night attack in unknown terrain with a company going into combat for the first time. Basically it’s madness, but what can you do!?
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Towards evening, the regimental commander arrives with some officers. It must be an important matter. While he discusses the situation with the battalion commander, I go out with a Hauptmann to be briefed. We stand at the front edge of the hollow. It is already starting to get dark, only the white blanket of snow illuminates the landscape enough to make out the contours in the terrain indistinctly. The Hauptmann stretches out his arm: “There in front, 300 metres in front of us, is our position. Even further ahead, about 1 km away, you will see a small wood. Behind this grove is an estate. That is your objective. You can’t see it, but all you have to do is walk towards the copse (he flutters his arm again, waving), and you’ll see it behind it!” After this rather nebulous briefing, we return to the battalion command post to discuss the details of the attack. The bunker is full of officers. The regimental commander gives a short situation briefing: ‘The Soviets have attacked and made some terrain gains after their barrage on the whole Barta sector yesterday. They are constantly continuing their pressure on our front, and last night, too, they pushed in the whole company sector here directly in front of us and threw back our infantry to the second line. The Dobeli estate was also lost in the process. But the manor is a crucial strongpoint in our defence line. We must recapture it, otherwise our whole front here will falter.” Then he turns to me: “You, Herr Leutnant, have the order to recapture the estate, no matter the cost!”
Oberst Mann is a small, wiry fellow. He speaks sharply and cuttingly to give more emphasis to his explanations. He now develops his operational plan and then gives the order to me: “You attack the estate with your company, take it by storm and occupy it with a platoon. Then immediately pivot to the east and clear the adjoining forest of the enemy. Another company will follow, echeloned backwards on the left, to ensure the connection to the left. The entire regimental artillery will be deployed to support your attack, and will initiate the attack with a sudden concentration on the estate. When the barrage commences, you will advance. As reinforcement you will receive two assault guns of A.R. (Artillery Regiment) 87[5], which will move along on the right wing of your company and then, overshooting your company, support the attack. You, Herr Leutnant, concentrate your attention solely on the attack. You care neither for the wounded nor for the dead. The regiment will take care of the casualties and the communications. Do you understand?” “Jawohl, Herr Oberst!” The Oberst steps towards me, shakes my hand and says: “The attack is difficult, but we have to make it!” The meeting is over. And as we leave the bunker, the other officers also furtively shake my hand.
Just as I’m about to step out of the bunker door, there is a hiss and a howl. Brakhbrookh- bresh-cranng. An entire volley of Stalin organs crashes with a sickening roar in and around the hollow. Most of the rockets explode up on the open area, where they do no damage among the widely scattered soldiers. Some, however, hit the pit where some of my squads were still located. A shower of sparks, flashes of fire, smoke and swirling branches fill the hollow. The projectiles had also passed among my men, and while the smoke drifts away in thin wisps, the first cries for the medic and the shouts of the rushing helpers ring out through the ensuing silence. With a few steps I am with my men. Comrades are already grabbing and carrying those hit into the bunkers. With eight dead and wounded, the mission begins before I have even taken the first step. Worse still, the men have now gone into shock. I now go to the platoons lying in the snow above, call the platoon leaders together and give all the necessary instructions for carrying out our attack.
We are to attack with all available weapons. So I have to drag the heavy MGs and the Ofenrohrs with the heavy ammunition boxes along, a kilometre through deep snow. Now the company, divided into platoons, stands along the edge of a hedge and waits for my signal. I wait for the concentrated artillery fire.
There - a few muffled shots behind us. The firing starts. I give the order: “Company march!” But it’s already quiet again. Was that the entire barrage of the regimental artillery? It should be drumming quite differently! At least a few more shots follow. The assault guns roll up with growling engines and drown out the fine hiss of the shells that pass overhead. Then the artillery preparation ends.
My company, deployed across a breadth of hundred metres, has reached the HKL in the meantime, crosses the infantry trench and now trudges into no-man’s land in the dim winter night. The assault guns rattle forward on the road to our right and are only visible as shadows. Now I hear their first shots far ahead. What’s all this useless shooting about? The assault guns are much too fast. They must wait until we’re closer! We wade forward through the snow, silently. From time to time someone steps into a snow-covered hollow or shell crater and falls to the ground. The men begin to hesitate. The long march is scary for them. They continue with difficulty through the deep snow. More and more often the soldiers kneel down and look ahead tensely. Maybe they’re afraid we’ll get behind the Russian lines. But they are probably just tired.
It is actually madness to send a completely inexperienced company on a night attack on its first front operation. On top of that, a machine-gun company that is not trained at all in the attack techniques of a rifle company, and whose men have not slept for two days and nights and then have to trudge a one-and-a-half-kilometre path through deep snow with heavy equipment before the attack even begins. Moreover, they still have the cries of the wounded after the Katyusha[6] fire attack in their ears.
We are still trudging forward through the deep snow, loaded with heavy equipment, the men visibly oppressed by a quiet trepidation about the invisible danger in the vast no-man’s land far from their own front. Almost an hour has passed since the attack began. Now we have reached the grove that the Hauptmann gave me as a point of reference. We approach the grove cautiously, prepared for a fire outbreak at any time. But it remains quiet. Suddenly, cheers sound from the left. The neighbouring company is attacking. It is echeloned a little to the rear, but has to pass through a forest. It has encountered the enemy earlier. I spur my men on so we don’t lag behind. Part of my company has passed through the copse, I myself have gone round to the side with the other part. Now our attack objective is clearly in front of us: the large, two-storey residential building of the estate. What lies behind it cannot be seen. Between us and the manor there are almost two hundred metres of open snow. I immediately go over to the attack, even though the men are a bit exhausted.
“1st Platoon out on the left, penetrates through the forest to the line of the estate.
2nd and 3rd Platoons under my leadership will attack the manor frontally.
4th Platoon will take up position here in the grove and support the attack with fire.
Radio team will remain in the grove. Forward march!”
We advance at a crouch. It’s now that the artillery fire should have come. It was timed much too early. The Russians have recognised our approach and open fire. A burst of mortar fire rushes in and hits the woods with a burst and a crash. Wounded men call for the medic, but I’m not supposed to take care of them. Nevertheless, I quickly run back. One has a splinter in his foot and can no longer walk. The other is badly hit and lies slumped in the snow. I comfort them a little and run back to the front.
From the well-placed impacts I realise that the Russians have the grove zeroed in. So I immediately pull out the MGs that had taken up positions there and use them in the attack. Only the radio operators were left there. They retreat with their equipment into a hole in the ground behind the grove.
Suddenly, behind us on the right, several hard-hitting shells boom. The shells whistle close over our heads at breakneck speed and crash into the farmstead. The terrified soldiers have pressed themselves into the snow and can’t get up. Anyone who has ever taken part in an attack with artillery or tank support from behind knows how much nerve it takes at the beginning to keep running. You feel as if the shells are whizzing by at head height and are about to tear you apart at any moment. For the poor guys in my company, it’s just too much for the first time. This fire support proves to be more of a brake than an incentive. I yell a short statement and shout, “We must take advantage of the fire support - forward - charge!” And since action is better than talk, I surge forward. Some men take heart and follow me, but the next volley presses them back into the snow. After all, we have gained some ground. The assault guns drive back.
An assault is not possible in this deep snow. We have to work our way forward by crawling. The snow gives us cover, but also makes it difficult to advance. Two machineguns work their way forward to my left and right. Directly in front of the manor house is a small, inconspicuous blockhouse from which we receive machine-gun fire. The shots rattle loudly and sharply through the winter night. Tseeou-zzzeeeen, sssshshtploupp. The bursts whiz over our heads at frantic speed and puff into the snow with a stifled sound. My two MGs have moved into position and are rattling their bursts against the blockhouse. A deadly duel.
Now, suddenly, single rifle shots are droning in the forest on the left. So the 1st Platoon has met resistance. The individual rifle shots echo through the forest like thunderclaps and fade away in the distance with an unwilling hum. As I now look over to the left of the forest, I recognise four small wooden huts at the edge of the forest from which shots are whipping. Distance 100 metres and directly in our flank! The halflight of the winter night had hidden them from us until now.
These are the kind of unforeseen surprises that play havoc with the best plans. But even the planning was not really the best. There was only ever talk of the manor that lay ahead. No one had thought of the four small huts. The guide should have given me a more precise description of the manor grounds. Now it is too late. I now receive flanking fire from the huts at close range. They are also like a wedge between me and the 1st Platoon. Flanking fire is always a nasty thing, but here from this short distance it is life-threatening. So, “Left MG target change left, the blockhouses!” I have to split my firepower. When the fire temporarily dies down, I can hear the metallic clicking of the breechblocks on the weapons in the blockhouses through the silence. Also excited talking and loading noises. But I can’t concern myself any further with the huts. That’s the 1st Platoon’s job. This sudden danger from the flank has delayed our attack anyway. So onward we go. There is hissing and whistling all around us. Ssssst – tsing – rattatstat – tseeou-tseeou – ssssst. Another 100 metres to the farmstead. But it is a plate-flat white expanse on which we stand out clearly. My MG tirelessly rattles its bursts and spurts of fire into the log cabin. It seems to me that it has become quieter over there. We’re not getting any more fire from the huts on the edge of the forest on our flank either. Either the Russians are now firing into the woods at 1st Platoon, or they have retreated so as not to be cut off, for we had already passed them.
Until now, we had been making slow but steady progress. Gradually, however, the attack becomes more and more sluggish and begins to falter. There we are, lying in the deep snow, our only cover. I lie in a veritable tub, which I have widened by rolling. The fire flares up and dies down again. For the moment it is almost silent. Then a hideous scream rings out from the forest. It is a tortured, bestial howl. A ghastly roar that rises and falls, fading from time to time into a deep moan. I know this from previous battles: Head shot! As soon as the noise of the battle subsides, this terrible howl echoes through the night, is horribly amplified by the echo of the forest and completely wears down the nerves of the overtired and overtaxed men. Fortunately it did not last very long, but the effect remains. The attack finally comes to a halt. Yet there are only 80 metres to go!
Something has to be done. I have to get the attack going again. I take a look around and to the rear to assess the situation. I am at the front of the attack. To my right, lying still and dead, is a fallen comrade. I only notice it now. His face and hands are bored into the snow and the barrel of his carbine is sticking up in the air at an angle. Poor fellow! Like a faithful dog, he didn’t leave my side and fell without me noticing. A little further to the right, fifteen metres away, my trusty MG crew is lying in position. It, too, has not left my side. Diagonally in front of me, five metres away, lies another single rifleman. All in all, there are about ten to twelve men at the front of the attack. And the mass of the two platoons? I turn around: There they lie, staggered backwards to the copse from which we started. I get angry. A handful of dutiful men are struggling here in front, and the whole rest of the pack is watching from behind. I jump up and run back regardless of all the dangers. Firstly because I am angry, and secondly because I want to show the men that it is not so dangerous. I run back to the rear squads and yell at a Landser lying in the snow in front of me. He is not even fifty metres away from the grove. The Landser apologises: “Herr Leutnant, this is my first attack!” I hurry the men up and run forward again. (In such cases, the Russian sometimes posted commissars behind his attacking soldiers, who shoot at anyone who goes back or doesn’t want to attack).
It has become increasingly clear lately: the soldiers hardly ever attack on their own. You have to push them. If you are in front, they don’t follow. If you’re in the rear, the spearhead at the front stays down. Admittedly, it has always been the case that in each company there were only a handful of really brave soldiers who carried the mass of the others along. But the host of the braves in the company used to be larger, and the others followed more willingly. That I am in a particularly unfavourable position with my present company is neither my fault nor that of the men. There are also a number of good and brave soldiers in this company. Even a single attack is enough to immediately distinguish the good from the bad. In any case, the earlier fighting spirit of the troops has largely disappeared.
I am in front again and have thrown myself down. Then I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and recognise Leutnant Harms. He throws himself into the snow behind me and reports: “Herr Leutnant, I can’t move forward any more. My whole platoon is wiped out!” I hiss back, “What are you saying?” He repeats, “I have maybe five men left!” I don’t believe him. I already know Harms well enough, and I know the exaggerated reports that come from shock. But be that as it may, cowardice or shock: if what he says is true, the matter becomes critical. If he fibs, it shows the utterly broken fighting morale of this platoon leader. And that is just as critical.
Suddenly two telephonists come trotting up. One has the cable drum on his back, the other carries the field telephone. They run up to me at the front and throw themselves down in the snow next to me. While they explain that they are from the regiment, they connect the telephone. I pick up the receiver and answer. An officer from the regimental staff answers on the other end. I explain to him that I am sixty to seventy metres from the manor house and that the attack is currently stalling somewhat and that the 1st Platoon has probably been worn down. Since we are close to the enemy, I have to speak low-voiced. The comrade in the back is apparently not quite satisfied (neither am I!). With a short “thank you” he hangs up.
Miserable situation: Firstly, the unexpected flank attack from the four huts delayed the attack and cost losses. Secondly: The 1st Platoon has achieved nothing at all. The Russians are sitting in the woods to our left and threaten to cut us off if we continue to advance. Third, losses are 20-25% (assuming Harms’ report is correct). Fourth, if we continue as before, I must expect further losses. Fifth, it is questionable whether I can hold the manor with the rest of the company, let alone clear the forest on the left, as my orders dictate. Sixth, the men are overtired and demoralised by the Stalin organ bombardment, the mortars, the cries of the wounded and even the panzers’ firing overhead, and they are at the end of their physical and nervous tether.
Under these circumstances I can get no further here. So turn back, return to the grove, regroup the company, give it a bit of courage and start the attack again from another side. That’s how we learned it.
So I give the order to slowly crawl back and gather at the grove. Unfortunately, I have to leave the dead man lying next to me. As those further behind us – especially those who are still almost at the copse! – realise that we are retreating, they also turn back, and many of them do not stay at the copse but hurry back towards our front. They just run away! I see them disappear into the darkness at the back without being able to call them back.
It’s always the same in such situations. There are always those who have lead in their trousers and can’t move forward. But as soon as they recognise even a hint of backward movement, they get running, take off to the rear, fast as weasels, and can no longer be stopped. Whether this happens out of fear or sometimes out of a misunderstanding may be left open. In any case, there is a great danger here, because these cowards often drag everyone else along with them.
(Actually, my order to gather at the grove should have been passed on from man to man to the rear. But these duds haven’t learned that at all or they have already completely lost their heads and nerves).
So I assemble the company at the grove to regroup them. Suddenly the regimental adjutant is standing in front of me and before I can say anything he is shouting at me like a man possessed. He has, of course, met those running back, who, to camouflage their cowardice, have told him the most sinister stories or probably even about a retreat order. Now he meets me here standing by the copse instead of attacking. He bellows on: “…If you have not captured the manor within half an hour, you and your entire NCO corps will be courtmartialled!”[7] Now that he has obviously given vent to his fury, I want to answer him. There is a rush in the air, and already it’s droning and crashing around us that the air pressure shakes our clothes. In a flash we are flat on the ground. Brookh-srashtsanng- tsing. Russian mortars. Ivan heard the adjutant’s shouting and immediately covered us with a volley. When the artillery burst dies away, I got up to answer the adjutant and give him some explanations. But the Oberleutnant is no longer there! He has discreetly withdrawn, and even faster than the cowards of my company!
Yes, that’s how it is now. The regiment has been assigned a company to make up for the regiment’s losses in the field. There’s nothing wrong with that in itself, because that’s our job, to be deployed in hot spots. But the temptation to let the subordinate unit pull the chestnuts out of the fire and spare your own men is great and understandable. One should not demand more from such a unit than one is capable of doing oneself. After all, the regiment has been thrown out of its positions, and now they want to hang me because I can’t regain this position straight away. Yet it is easier to hold a position than to regain it. The Russian pressure is enormous. The regiment has not withstood it and has retreated. And now they want to court-martial me because I can’t push back this Russian thrust right away. This is no longer war, this is convulsion. The hysterical screaming of the screeching parrot earlier was symbolic, typical of the whole war situation. Our feverish efforts are already covered with the frantic glow of superhuman will. For all the admirable power of resistance of our troops, one no longer senses faith in victory, but the ice-cold air of soldierly fanaticism or hysterical feeling of doom, heroic resignation or the lazy breath of shirking. Hitler’s energy has also become cruelty.
I have reformed my platoons and explain my plan of attack to them: We want to grab the manor from the side. Therefore, I will sneak up on the manor with one platoon in an arc and storm it from the flank. The other platoon, consisting of two machineguns and a few squads, on the other hand, should continue to attack from the former direction or at least fire to tie up the Russians on that side. In this way we also break up his defensive fire. Finally I order the company squad leader to stay at the back of the platoon so that no one will stay behind.
New attempt! I lead the way again and, covered by a rise in the ground, creep along a track that leads past the manor almost like a defile. Hunched over, sometimes crawling, I move forward. Behind me the platoon follows. Panting and sweating, I reach a thicket that spreads out to the side of the manor. I want to attack from here. I wait until the men have approached. Then we push through the bushes to the front edge. Forty metres in front of us is the manor house. We are already on the estate. There is only a bunker between us and the house, but nothing is moving there. It’s quiet in the house, too.
Next to me is an Obergefreiter from the regimental staff. He had just arrived when I started the second attack. He had brought me the order from the regiment to break off the attack, but now that I was in the middle of the attack, I wanted to finish my task. In order to have a witness for my action, I took him with me. He didn’t bat an eyelid. Now he is even in the lead with me here. He is a brave lad. I drag one barrel of our Panzerschrecks forward, plus two men with the heavy ammunition box. “Prepare one shot – When fired, up and attack!” Hurriedly the men load. I lie hard on the edge of the bushes with about ten men in the front-line. The Panzerschreck gunner reports, “Ready!” I command, “Fire!” The rocket hisses out of the barrel, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Then it crashes into the house. Amidst the crash of the impact, my command sounds: “Jump up - Hooraaay!” The group jumps up, and with hurrahs we charge forward towards the house. In the silence of the winter night, our storm cry penetrates far across the landscape. There may be ten to twelve men sprinting with me. The soldier who was in front of me earlier runs in front of me again now. A fearless fellow. So there are brave men even now and even in this company. We have reached the bunker and are still 20 metres from the house. No defensive fire! The house seems to have been vacated already.
Then it rattles away as if all hell breaks loose. Frenzied infantry fire hits us from the flank. Quick as a flash we throw ourselves to the ground and press ourselves deep into the snow. Singing and hissing, the hail of bullets whistles over us, whips through the bushes, buzzes through the air as ricochets. I cast a quick glance to my right. The flickering of muzzle flashes twitches through the night like a glittering string of pearls. The fire is coming from a trench running along behind the manor house, filled with Russians. They had retreated from the house and now ambush us from the flank. One of their usual surprises.
Now an anti-tank gun barks out as well. With an angry hiss, the speeding projectiles smash into the ground. Any further action now would be suicide. The daredevil in front of me had turned back as soon as the fire attack began. I decide to call off the attack. Tired, I turn around. The men have all disappeared behind the bushes. Beaten! My first failed attack. I straighten up with difficulty. I am suddenly overcome by a leaden tiredness. My last escort runs past me towards the sheltering bushes. I am the last. I stagger back through the deep snow. I can no longer crawl. My legs are heavy, I can hardly lift them. Only now do I feel that I am completely exhausted. The sleepless nights are having an effect. It is as if, with the attack beaten off, my last strength has also been used up. I think nothing, I feel nothing. The Russian tracer bullets whiz past my head on the right and left. I could grab them if I stretched out my arm. I pay no attention. Upright, I stagger on. It is not courage, it is complete apathy.
Then I reach the bushes and behind them the shallow sunken path, which offers me some protection. Then the fire dies down. I reach the grove where the platoons are gathering. The men had walked about thirty metres in front of me. I kept them in sight. I gather the rest of the company, the equipment and want to pull back. There is another seriously wounded man lying by the grove. When he notices that we are moving back, he groans loudly. I sense his fear that we might leave him lying there. I order four men to pick him up. They hesitate, want to shirk. But then I snap at them angrily, make the company stop and don’t go any further until they bother to pick up their wounded comrade and carry him back. Such a scene would have been impossible at the beginning of the war.
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18.Army: X.A.K.: 87.J.D.: The enemy running against the blocking front on the left wing of the Div. throughout the day could only slightly press in the own MLD on both sides of the Gederti, Bumbuli road. Leadership and troops once again proved their worth in the defensive battle.
I started the attack with 70 men, I come back with 49. The failure of the attack was not my fault. The enemy was stronger. I had advanced as far as the manor house, a handful of stout-hearted men and good soldiers faithfully and ruthlessly committed themselves to my side. There was nothing more we could do.
The regiment has not called in any more. Neither Oberst Mann nor the hysterical Oberleutnant, whom I would have liked to speak to again. They didn’t bother about the dead and wounded either. Incidentally, my splendid company officer, Leutnant Harms, did not return with 5 men, but with 20. So either he lied (which I believe) or he lost track of things in the forest (in which case he is incapable of being a platoon leader). There is not enough evidence to do anything against him. But you can’t lead a successful attack with such platoon leaders.
My shattered company is distributed among the positions to reinforce the defensive line. I myself, with my messenger and a few men, move into a bunker where the gun crew of a quad-flak gun and a young artillery Leutnant are lying. The quad-flak is close by and the artillery Leutnant is in the trench as a forward observer. I’m dead tired, but I can’t sleep because I’m overtired and agitated. So I lay on the cot for hours. Lead tiredness paralyses my body and my ability to think.
That’s the worst thing: it’s not the battle alone that wears you down, but the efforts of all kinds that begin days beforehand, the preparations that take days and nights, the march, the lack of sleep and often the heat, cold, thirst and wetness on top of it. And in the case of officers, there is the additional strain on the nerves caused by mental work and responsibility. Yes, an officer has to bear a much heavier burden than a Landser. That begins long before the actual battle. The soldier only has his rifle or his machinegun. The officer has to take care of all the weapons in his company. Moreover, the officer runs to briefings, mission conferences and other preparations long before the fight begins, while the Landser is often already asleep. In combat itself, the officer bears the same strains as the Landser. He runs, crawls, scrambles, sweats, freezes, starves, gets wet, dirty, bloody like the latter. But on top of that, he has to strain his brain intensively: Observing the enemy, the effect of his fire and the enemy’s fire, trying to recognise enemy movements, enemy intentions. Thinking, making decisions, giving orders. When attacking in a larger unit, keeping in touch with the neighbour and much else. And he is responsible for everything. Certainly he has his helpers for many tasks, but he must not and cannot rely on them alone. All this requires close attention, and that costs nerve-work, which the soldier is spared. How strong this nerve work and concentration is, I have experienced twice at first hand. The concentration on combat leadership was so intense that I only registered the pain of a wound in passing, almost subconsciously.
Such nervous tension means wear and tear on the nerves. And when the soldier lies down to sleep after the battle, the officer is still running to the battalion with reports, receiving new orders and already starting preparations for the next day of fighting. Mental work is more important than physical work. Nerves are more precious than muscles. They are also harder to heal once they are broken. All these tasks put far more strain on the officer in action than on the ordinary soldier. This also justifies the officers’ better position in rations in many armies. Their greater consumption of nerve substance requires higher-quality food. Even the Soviet Union, despite its socialist egalitarianism, has four different ration groups: for enlisted men, non-commissioned officers, officers and generals. This does not exist in the German Wehrmacht.
Here is another quote : “It is good if the leader shares and knows all the burdens of the last man, so that he applies the right means at the right moment. But it is more important that he be fresher than the last man at decisive moments, otherwise his task of leadership, which is of a spiritual nature, may break down from physical exhaustion.”[9]
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- ↑ in the original contemporarily „Keisteri“, on the Karte des westlichen Russland sheet H16 Libau Süd „Rute“, today Ķesteri, district of Dunika Municipality
- ↑ in the original, erraneously, „to the west“
- ↑ in the original contemporarily „Sandarti“, on the aforementioned map „Ww. (forest keeper) Sander, Bauerschaft (hamlet) Bumbul“, on the Deutsche Heereskarte Osteuropa 1:300.000 sheet R 57 „Bumbuļi“, today Sanderi, district of Dunika Municipality
- ↑ Daily report HGr N dated 23.01.1945, KTB OKH, NARA T-78 Roll 308 Frame 6259659; „N[orth of] Gederti“ means (also) Dobeli
- ↑ Oehmichen/Mann p. 400 state Sturmgeschütz-Abteilung 1187, acc. to Balsi formed from 2nd/Panzer-Jäger-Abt. 187 with 5 Sturmkanonen (storm cannons) 40, i. e. Sturmgeschützen III G
- ↑ the Russian name for the (multiple rocket launcher), by the Germans officially called Salvengeschütz and colloquially, Stalinorgel
- ↑ In the previous months, GOC Schörner had repeatedly had the failure of units investigated by a court martial (KTB HGr N, especially October/November 1944).
- ↑ Daily report HGr Kurland of 24 Jan 45, KTB OKH, NARA T-78 Roll 308 Frame 6259616/17
- ↑ Captain Rosenbrock in Benary p. 122
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