21. März 1945
| GEO & MIL INFO | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Surroundings of Nīca | 
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| Corps Machine Gun Battalion 410 again, subordinated to (K.Gr.) 126. I.D., from 26th: Gr. Oberst von Gise | ||||
| X. A.K. again | ||||
| 24th: Cdr: Gen d Inf HilpertWP | ||||
21 March. After a refreshing sleep and a cosy breakfast, we say goodbye to our friendly hosts and continue on our way. Shortly after the village, a Latvian farmer’s cart overtakes us and gives us a lift at our request. After a while, the soldier reaches his destination, says goodbye and gets off the cart. I travel as far as the farmer’s homestead and then continue on foot. According to my enquiries so far, it can’t be far to the quarters of our train. We had previously travelled south along the eastern side of the endlessly long Lake Libau and have now passed the southern tip of the lake. Through questions I have learnt that my battalion is back on the southern front of the Courland cauldron, in fact near the first positions we occupied when we arrived in Courland. As the front is not too far away, the trains must be in the next villages. From now on, I ask every soldier I meet about the Corps Machine Gun Battalion. Soon I’m in the right region. And there is already a signpost along the way: Corps Machine Gun Battalion 410.
I turn right, off the road, onto a dirt track and trudge along the muddy path towards a farmstead that I can see some distance away. I have reached the farmstead and walk towards the front door, trying to get from one dry spot to another across the yard, partly by jumping and partly by sliding.
Promotion to First Lieutnant – EK I – Close Combat Clasp
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In the murderous fighting around Prekuln (5th Kurland Battle, February 45), my company was annihilated except for 4 men.
The Spieß of the 2nd Company appears at the front door. I know him. He’s seen me coming from afar. Now he greets me: “Good afternoon, Herr Oberleutnant! Everything healed up again?” - “Yes, Spieß, ready to go again.” - “Well, thank you very much, Herr Oberleutnant, I’d rather not, we’ve just got out of the worst mess!” - “Well, where from? By the way, I’m a Leutnant, Spieß.” The sergeant major looks at me, half questioning, half astonished. “No, you’re mistaken, Herr Oberleutnant, but don’t you know about your promotion?” Now I look at him, half questioning, half astonished. He continues: “I’ve got your promotion certificate here, I’ll get it for you straight away.” We both step into the house, and while I put down my cardboard box and clean the dirt off my boots, the sergeant major rummages through his papers on the desk. “Here, Herr Oberleutnant.” He holds a letter out to me and I take it into my hand. It’s a letter from the OKH (Army High Command) to Gen.Kdo. X. A.K. (General Command of the Tenth Army Corps), Courland. I read: “The Leutnant d. Res. Herbert Schrödter... has been preferentially promoted to Oberleutnant d. Res. with effect from 1.1.45.”
Actually, I didn’t know that, I can only reply. After I’ve recovered from the first surprise, the Spieß reveals a second: “You’ve also been awarded the EK I. It arrived immediately after you were wounded. Your sergeant major travelled straight to Libau after you and looked for you in all the military hospitals there, but he didn’t find you anywhere and came back with your EK I without having achieved anything.” After we had talked about this for a few more words, I let him tell me what the battalion had experienced during my absence. And here I learn terrible things. After the 4th Kurland Battle had just ended, the Russians had launched another major attack. The 5th Kurland Battle had begun. Our battalion was thrown into battle at Preekuln, where it suffered terrible losses. My company was attrited down to 4 men in this battle. The main thrust of the mass attack led by Soviet guards and elite troops hit our battalion, which upon this brunt was completely shattered by the enemy’s destructive fire and overrun by the masses of attacking tanks and infantrymen. The battalion commander was wounded, the battalion was pulled out after only a few days and moved to its current positions. My company is to be disbanded. A new battalion leader has already arrived.
The Spieß concludes his report: “I have taken over the affairs of the 3rd Company until your return and have also kept your promotion certificate. The certificate of possession of the EK I is ready for you at the battalion.”
So while I was in hospital, my company was annihilated except for 4 men in a murderous battle. It is the third time in this war that I have escaped the deadly fate of my unit only because I was wounded right at the beginning of the battle or shortly before and was in the hospital or at home.
The Spieß points through the window to the next farmstead: “The rest of your company is over there, Herr Oberleutnant.” I decide to go over there first and then report back to the battalion.
The farm is a hundred metres away. I enter and am greeted by the Latvian, who leads me straight to the room where my duty station is located. “Good afternoon, Woock!” I greet the lance corporal.[1] “Good afternoon, Herr Oberleutnant!” comes the reply. The narrow-faced man from Hamburg tells me again about the events of the last few weeks. He is one of the four survivors. Senior lance corporal Bohndorf is also still alive. Three of the survivors are already assigned to the 1st Company. He himself is tasked with handling the last remaining business. During the fighting, the entire train had also been sent into the trenches. The Spieß was killed three days later. A direct hit from a 12-cm mortar shell had penetrated the ceiling of the dugout, killing him. My loyal medical sergeant was also killed. He was killed while still in Sili, one day after he had pulled me off the battlefield in the sledge. He was shot in the head while tending to a wounded man.
I make my way to the battalion, which is a kilometre away. The terrain seems to be higher because the ground is drier. In places I simply walk cross-country. The air is mild and a lark trills high in the sky.
I have reached the farmstead. There are two HF1s in the yard, drivers running around. I enter the house and knock at the commander’s room. Inside, our senior paymaster Schneider is sitting at his desk. The new battalion leader, Captain Dietsch, is lying on the sofa. When I enter, he rises and greets me in a very friendly manner. Schneider smiles. And then I hear once again the story of my promotion, the award of the EK I, the Battle of Preekuln and other changes in the battalion. The other company leaders of the battalion have also been wounded and have not yet returned. A new first lieutenant is expected instead. Now Captain Dietsch hands me the Certificate of Possession of the EK I. There it is written in black and white: “In the name of the Führer and Supreme Commander of the Wehrmacht, I award Lieutenant Herbert Schrödter the Iron Cross 1st Class according to B.T.B. No. 26 of 13 Feb 45.”
In the justification for the award of the EK I to me it says: “... because he liberated the battalion from a dangerous situation by quickly grasping the situation and leading an energetic counterattack on his own initiative.”
Objectivity requires me to add, however, that at the moment of the counterattack I was neither aware of my particular grit nor of the battalion’s dangerous situation. I simply did what had to be done in such a situation, what my tactical training and my military duty dictated. It was only afterwards that I realised from the regimental commander’s comments that it must have been something special. Perhaps the prisoner also made valuable statements.
“I can’t give you an EK yet,” said the battalion leader, “yours has been lost in the fighting. I’ll have to requisition a new one first. Until then, I’ll give you mine.” With that, he unscrews his EK I from his coat and attaches it to my tunic. Then he once more repeats a few instructions regarding the disbanding of my company. The battalion surgeon grants me a “fence time” of eight days, which I will also use to process the disbanding of the company. After that, I am to take over the 1st Company.
We continue to sit together chatting for a while. The battalion leader, Captain Dietsch, is an always funny Saxon with a cheeky mouth and lots of risqué jokes. The battalion doctor is a Latvian who is married to a German woman and speaks German fluently. His quips are similar to those of the battalion leader. He is a likeable, fresh-faced, handsome chap. Senior Paymaster Schneider is a Sudeten German, has spent several years in Latvia and speaks Latvian fluently. He is a good Catholic and therefore has a lot of sympathy for me.
I now say goodbye and set off on my return journey. It is already dark and I have some trouble finding my homestead. But then I reach the homestead with the many telephone wires that I had noticed earlier, and now it’s only a hundred metres to my farm.
We’ve been working for days on the winding-up of the disbandment formalities: Taking stock of what’s left of the weapons and equipment, dividing them up among the remaining companies, handing over the files to the battalion, notifying the relatives of the fallen and returning their personal belongings. It’s all sad work. I spend hours writing letters to the relatives of the fallen. We are actually ordered to use the pre-printed text forms, which are full of National Socialist phrases. I didn’t use any of them, but wrote personal letters to all of them. The legacy of the fallen sometimes revealed his religious beliefs, and I tried to comfort the faithful by referring to God’s inscrutable judgement.
Our parlour is beginning to resemble a post office. Countless late Christmas parcels pile up in mountains. But the comrades to whom they were intended are dead, missing or in captivity. We open all the parcels that arrive, take out the food and distribute it to the other companies. We return valuables, photos and other personal items to the relatives. Sometimes the edible contents are already spoilt, like the delicious large sausage yesterday. We consulted two Latvian housewives, but they also said it was already inedible.
I have just opened another Christmas parcel. I fold back the colourful paper and look at all the sweet treats, home-baked biscuits, chocolate and fondant. How much love has gone into the careful packaging! I can literally see the poor women’s and mothers’ hands, eagerly and lovingly placing the few delicacies in the parcel that they have stinted themselves for and made with their own hands. I can feel the motherly care and the blessings they have placed alongside them. I suspect many a tear has been shed over it. But it no longer reaches the husband or son...
I ate almost nothing from these parcels. Once I took the usable remainder of half a pound of butter that was already threatening to go rancid. Another time a sachet of confectionery and a few biscuits here and there. I am reluctant to stuff myself with things that were intended for my dead comrades. It may be an exaggerated point of view, but that’s just the way I am. I didn’t starve to death because of it. It seems to me that poor Woock hardly dares to take anything now that he sees that I hardly touch anything.
My convalescence period is almost over, but we are also nearly finished with our official duties. So I make time for private interests. I visit the Latvian farms, take a closer look at them and talk to the inhabitants. I find a coffin in the attic of a farmhouse. I am told that many Latvian farmers carpenter or have their coffin carpentered while they are still alive and then put it in the attic until it is needed. A constant memento mori!
In another house, I meet an old grandmother who speaks almost exclusively Russian. She grew up in the days when Latvia was still under Tsarist rule.
A large part of our battalion’s positions run through swamps and marshy forests. There are wild boars here. Members of the 2nd Company shot one of these beasts. To be more precise, it was the Spieß, who has invited me to a roast pig tonight. Apart from him, there’s also an officer from the 2nd company, Second Lieutenant Vriebel, and a corporal. The roast is accompanied by schnapps. But as I wasn’t sure whether the creature were free of trichinae, I only ate potatoes with gravy. That also tasted delicious. The others feasted on the roast without being harmed.
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- ↑ in the original “Woog”, spelling “Woock” confirmed by field post letter dated 27 Jan 45; at the end of January 1945, lance corporal and 1st clerk of 3. /410
- ↑ When exactly is unknown; perhaps as a hopeful gift during the war, perhaps only after returning home in 1949 by an indifferent jeweller - medals had downright been banned by Law No. 7 of the Allied High Commission since 21 September 1949, permitted again in denazified form by the Order Law of 26 July 1957 - because they are still versions with swastikas, which my foolhardy father even wore at a school event! The headmaster looked closely, but didn't make a face.