28. Januar 1945
| GEO & MIL INFO | ||||
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| Cammin | 
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| Berlin |
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| 28th or 29th:[1] Carola, wife of the author, flees from Cammin/Pommern to her parents-in-law in Berlin | ||||
| Field post letters/Red Cross cards | ||||
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| ✉ to Carola and parents |
Call from the battalion. Tonight[2] some pioneers will arrive to blow up the small bridge. They want to avoid further aberrations like that of the poor pioneer yesterday[3] in the future.
An assault gun is coming from the village. It’s coming down the road like the pioneer sledge yesterday[4]. It’s broad daylight. I don’t know what it’s doing here at this time of day and why it’s coming here at all. Suddenly an explosion bellows out. The gun jerks to a halt and is enveloped in a thick cloud of smoke. Through the billowing smoke I see the three-man crew, one after the other, leap out of the turret hatch at ape-like speed and roll into the ditch. Gosh, that was a matter of seconds. They’ve drilled getting out ad nauseam, and here you can see how life-saving it can be. The faster, the more skilled, the one who shoots first has the greater chance of survival. The gun stands motionless. The crew slowly and carefully rise from the ditch. The tank had hit a mine. I wave the men over to me and we talk about the horror they have endured and the damage to the selfpropelled gun. It is not serious. The crew is also unhurt, only the tank driver is still a bit dazed from the pressure of the explosion.
I have just returned from a successful counterattack. It all happened very quickly and went like this: I’m standing in the small communication trench between our two bunkers, when suddenly a furious infantry fire starts on the right in the woods. This is in my right sector, by the 1st Platoon. The forest rustles and roars from the rattling and pattering of rifle shots and machinegun bursts. This is not a fire raid, this is an attack. The “Urraah” of the attackers is drowned out by the high rattling of the infantry fire. Without waiting for further signs or reports, I alert my company reserve. My company squad leader crawls out of the bunker while I look anxiously over to the forest. A figure comes running out of the forest! A German soldier! Now a second, a third. They are leaving the positions!
“Feldwebel Freitag, shoot “red”! - Company reserve, prepare for counterattack!”
We put on our steel helmets and reach for our weapons. The company squad leader had crawled into the bunker in the meantime to get the flare gun. He returns with the loaded pistol, holds it up vertically and pulls the trigger. With a hiss, the cartridge goes skyward, glows red and sinks back to the ground. “One more right away!” Shortly afterwards, a second red flare hisses into the air.
Red flare means: enemy attacking. Multistar red means barrage request. I didn’t have one of those, though.
“Feldwebel Freitag, you stay here, call the battalion immediately and report: Enemy is attacking 3rd Company’s forested section. Company leader has started counterattack with company reserve.”
With six men of my company reserve I jump across the road, let the men fan out and catch the retreaters of the 1st Platoon at the edge of the forest. They have to join us, and together we head for the positions again. When we were within sixty to eighty metres, I gave the command: “The position is to be retaken by storm. Fire from all guns - forward - hurraah!” Roaring and firing, we stomp through the snow-covered forest. From tree to tree, from bush to bush we move forward. Jump – shoot, jump – shoot. Our storm call echoes in the wintry forest with multiplied strength. The crack of rifle shots amplifies the noise of battle and instils courage back into the men. I see them advancing between the trees. They jump, kneel behind a tree, shoot, reload, jump on. They move forward quickly. In front of me runs a soldier who has loaded a rifle grenade. This dangerous, highly explosive projectile is placed on the front of the rifle muzzle. With it, the guy now runs through the bushes, muzzle down. If he gets stuck somewhere or the thing slips out, he’s gone. But I don’t have time for admonitions now. There’s already the trench ahead!
A short howl, then a hail of shells crashes down on us. Brakh-brookhkrrraakh- tsenng! It breaks and splinters in the trees. Red jet flames twitch from the crowns. Black-grey smoke fountains leap from the snow-covered ground, and a veritable shower of splinters, twigs and earth pelts down on us. Our own barrage! Our counter-attack was so swift that we had already reached the positions when the barrage drummed down on them. The fire is good, right on top of the positions and very close to them. The only trouble is that we’re already very close to it and now we’re getting the whole blessing. My men have huddled close to the tree trunks and ducked their heads. The blast of fire is short and hard. Now it is over, and in a few movements we are at the positions. The Bolsheviks are thrown back. Already during our attack they have retreated, and the barrage has finished them off. We see the last brown figures disappear beyond the trees.
But not all of them. As I approach one of our foxholes, an Ivan stands up and raises his hands. In one hand flutters a piece of paper, which he now hands over to me. It is one of our propaganda flyers with the signature of a captain of the Vlasov army who is calling on the Russians to defect. Whether he wanted to defect or whether the barrage had forced him into cover and he could not get back fast enough afterwards is unimportant.
While the men reoccupy the positions, I go to the right wing of my company sector to see if the connection to the neighbouring unit has been re-established. Everything is in order. Right in the first hole I find two men from the neighbouring company. They are members of an assault company. On their side, the attack had already stalled in front of the positions. These well-armed and fearless men shake their heads at the fact that you can run away “from such a few Ivans”. They describe the course of the battle to me, and there is pride and a bit of boasting in their words. But why shouldn’t they! After a beaten enemy attack, I suppose they have a right to do so. I would be glad if I had only ten men of that sort in my company.
I return to my company command post, send the prisoner to the battalion and report to the battalion by telephone that the counterattack is over, that the positions have been reoccupied and that 1 prisoner has been taken.
This was a lightning action without casualties and even one prisoner. Here again the old experience was confirmed that counterattacks are all the more successful and cost all the fewer casualties the faster they start. This was a prime example of an “automatic counter-attack”, as they have been demanded by the military leadership for some time now in the case of enemy incursions.[5]
These are gloriously clear winter days. The sky is deep blue and cloudless. The fir forest on the other side of the road is thickly covered in snow and resembles a fairytale forest. The snow cover over the land is white as a flower and glistens in the sun like billions of crystals. But it is grim frost. My company squad leader, Feldwebel Freitag, has frozen his foot and has to go to the military hospital.[6]
We are being regrouped. In order to reinforce the front here in the village, a 2nd line is set up for me to occupy. There was a bit of a surprise when the company leader of the new unit appears to relieve me. It is Leutnant Fischer, former Gefreiter and gunner in the platoon I led as Feldwebel, last seen seriously wounded at the Sula crossing.
The 2nd line or reserve position runs through the middle of the village, roughly parallel to the front-line with the same front direction, only about two hundred metres to the rear. The positions are covered by high bushes and occupied by two platoons. The 3rd platoon is in a farmstead close behind the front-line. My new position line also reaches the Barta hollow on the left. My company command post is in a bunker directly at the foot of the wall of the church ruins. The Russian front once ran along the church here. The bunker was also built by Russians. In accordance with the direction of the Russian front, it was of course behind the church, so that it is now on the wrong side, namely towards the front. The entrance also opens towards the enemy. The nave, which offered protection to the Russian, is now in my rear. However, we have dug a small trench in front of the bunker, the earth thrown out of which forms a shallow protective wall that at least protects the bunker somewhat from view.
The Russian does not rest. Today, once again, he shelled the church wall with Paks. We hear the harsh discharge and almost at the same time the metallic crashing of the bursting shells. Most of them go through and tear small holes in the masonry of the battered ruin. Others shatter the stone, which pelts our bunker ceiling in chunks large and small. After each impact, a plume of red dust billows up, hanging in the air as a reddish haze for a while.
Today, too, Ivan shoots like mad at the poor remains of the church. There is a crash and a clatter. The sentry sneaks in. It’s too dangerous for him outside. I want to send out the second messenger because observation must continue. He hesitates and cannot decide to take over. So I get up and go out myself once again. But I won’t do it more often, otherwise the soldiers will make a habit of it. There is no movement in the terrain, only that damned gun firing, and always at the church. Shells crash into the wall at a height of four to six metres. Stones rattle down. I arch my back and pull my head in like a turtle. What a sense of security such a steel helmet gives! It easily sheds a stone from a height of three metres. In front of me on the trench wall lies a dead soldier. He’s not from my company. He must finally be buried. I want to have it done tonight.
From the bunker door a messenger calls out: “Herr Leutnant, call from the battalion!” I go in, pick up the phone and answer. The battalion adjutant is on the line: “Morning Schrödter, miserable shelling today, huh? How’s it going? Anything to see? No? All right, bye!” After an hour another call comes in: “Nothing to see? All the better! Bye!” When I hang up, I wonder about the calls. You don’t call about such trifles.
The terrain behind us has also been under artillery fire for half an hour. The telephone line has long since been shot up. So I call a man from the Nachrichtenstaffel to me from the neighbouring bunker. The radio operator is to restore the connection to the battalion with his Dora radio[7]. He sticks his antenna outside through a crack in the door and now operates the device. After some time he hands me a piece of paper with a radio message he has just recorded. But the message is indecipherable because it consists of completely incomprehensible sentences. When I ask him if he understands the message, he answers in the negative. So check back. He records the message again and ends with “understood”. But the message is still indecipherable. I hiss at this dud, but that doesn’t make the message any clearer. What are you supposed to do with these six-week recruits? The garbled radio message says something about awards, but I can’t make heads or tails of it. So I order the radio operator to get the message from the battalion himself if he is unable to pick it up on the radio. But then I have second thoughts. Can I send this twerp to the battalion the location of which is unknown to him? Through terrain that is under artillery fire, to boot? So I send out my real messenger. He shoulders his rifle and takes off.
This messenger is the same radioman I had “punitively transferred” to the forward position in Jurmalciems and who didn’t want to go back. Today he is a good messenger.
After an hour he is back and makes his report, puffing and blowing. In the meantime, a second report was necessary, but he didn’t want to make another trip to the battalion. He had had enough dodging, he said, and now the second messenger could also run. He is right. Incidentally, I have earmarked him for an award at the next opportunity because of his dangerous and dutiful despatch runs.
Four pioneers have just arrived. I’m about to go forward with them. Some men from the company squad join them voluntarily and a bit out of curiosity. Together with the security squad provided by 1st Platoon, we feel our way into the forefield. After all, the bridge is a good eighty metres in front of our positions, and it cannot be ruled out that it is being watched by Soviet patrols. We stalk our way to the bridge, partly in the ditch, partly in the woods next to the road. Then I go out over the bridge with the security squad and form a wide semicircle to shield the pioneers working on the bridge from any surprises. In the meantime, they have placed two T-mines on the bridge and now give me a sign: all clear! I pull back the security posts and we take cover fifty metres behind the bridge. The pioneers set the fuse. A low call: “Attention - detonation!” Brrrroooommmm! With a rumbling detonation, mixed with the crash and splinter of breaking wood, the beams and boards whirl into the air. A dark cloud of smoke rises. The bridge is gone. No sooner has the thunder of the explosion died away than the Russian front comes to life. At first, individual shots scatter across to us, and soon there is a rattling of fire from all corners of the Soviet line towards the bridge. “Back, into the ditch!” Ducking, we run back to our positions. Some break their way through the undergrowth of the forest. Tracer bullets whiz past us. A few more jumps, then across the cutting, and then we are back in our holes without casualties. The Soviet gunfire dies down. The pioneers say goodbye and I report to the battalion that the demolition has been carried out.
The Russians are starting to advance towards our positions again. Things are getting restless. In order to reconnoitre the situation, the battalion sends out a strong patrol into the light forest terrain ahead of us. They leave at nightfall from the sector of my left platoon. After almost two hours I see them coming back in the darkness. In a long line they come back in single dispersed groups and gather behind my positions. Now they have been standing there in large clusters under a group of trees for nearly half an hour. There are at least twenty of them. Actually they are none of my business, because they are not my men, but now I go over to them to see what is actually going on. Suddenly I see dark figures coming out of the forest. They’re coming the same way the patrol came back. Pursuing Russians? I immediately alert my left sector. When the patrol hears my warning call, they suddenly start moving backwards and want to leave. I become enraged and order the platoon to take up positions. They do so hesitantly, but no one fires. Only after my repeated order to fire did a few shots ring out. But then the alleged attackers start shouting. They are Germans! They are the last group of the returning patrol. One of them had been shot in the thigh. He is supported by two comrades.
That was a glitch. I was a bit too hasty. I should have taken a closer look at the “attackers” before I fired. But I couldn’t have known that the patrol would come back in such dribs and drabs, with half an hour between the first and the last. I don’t believe it! Above all, the stupid Landsers who had been standing around for half an hour could have told me straight away that these were the last groups of their patrol. But now I realised why the bunch that had returned early was so secretive and taciturn: it was the cowards who had retreated far too early again and were now waiting here until the other comrades had completed their patrol mission. That’s why they waited under the group of trees, and that’s why they couldn’t give any satisfactory answers when I asked them about this and that earlier. And that’s why they fumbled when they were supposed to open fire. Because if they had said something, it would have become obvious that they had ducked out and come back much too early.
Incidentally, the battalion could have felt free to inform me about the strength and mission of the patrol. In order to calm down the man who shot the comrade, I explained to him in front of the assembled men that he had acted correctly, because he had shot on my orders.
After dark, the rations sledge is driven up to the church. The squads collect their food from here. Today there are again close combat ration packs [Nahkampfpäckchen] for the fights of the last few days. I get three of them[8] but immediately have them taken back to the train. They are to be kept there until I come to the rear, where I would like to eat them in peace.
Now the anti-tank gun is slamming rounds into the church wall again. Food distribution has just finished. The drivers hurriedly throw the empty canisters onto the sledge, mount up and zoom off.
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- ↑ according to Georg Schrödter's notes it was the 28th, according to her own recollection, the 29th
- ↑ On this day, a series of events must have taken place that seemed like a whole week to the author, although he mentions concrete and verifiable dates before and after. Therefore, phrases such as “today”, which would otherwise indicate a new day, or “a few days ago”, “back then”, “after a few days” or “the day before yesterday” should not be taken literally, but simply mean “yesterday” or “today”; the editor has modified them in this respect. References to the end of the day, which would normally herald a new day, must be interpreted here as meaning that an event within this day belongs at the end. (In the online publication, the editor has made this shift. The alternative of assigning some events to completely different days is still being investigated).
- ↑ in the original “a few days ago”, see previous footnote
- ↑ im Original “in those days”, cf. footnote above
- ↑ as in an instruction of Schörner's to the armies on 12 Nov 44 (KTB HGr N p. 149)
- ↑ In the original, “Kompanietrupp” is erased, probably because Freitag still takes part in the counterattack further down. This sergeant was therefore not Freitag - in which case the paragraph would not need to be moved - or the frostbite was merely later in the day. An alternative name is given further down.
- ↑ Torn.Fu. d2 „Dora“, FeldFu d or KlFuSpr d „Dorette“?
- ↑ for the three days of close combat on 24th, 25th und 26th endorsed in the paybook (form II opposite p.23)